


Catching Up

by xannish



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xannish/pseuds/xannish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Natasha team up, reminisce, and compare skills, in combat and... "otherwise."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catching Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseveare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseveare/gifts).



> I totally ship both pairings nominated for this fandom, but I've been thinking more about Matt and Natasha lately, so that's where I went. Big change since I don't write het things that often! And then it turned into a bunch of graphic porn. Hope you don't mind!

Even with his heightened senses, Matt Murdock barely heard the woman before she flashed into his 360° spatial awareness and lighted on the roof a scant few meters beside him, her weight settled evenly across her limbs. Despite the exertion of rooftop travel, her breathing was calm and even, her heartbeat strong but scarcely elevated. He knew that heartbeat, just as he knew the scent that the evening breeze carried to him beneath the overtones of sewage and curry that hung in the Manhattan night: female and electric with a hint of oiled steel. The clothes had changed, the soap had changed, but the body beneath was one he knew almost as well as his own, or had once. It had changed uncomfortably little.

“Black Widow,” he acknowledged without turning his head.

“Daredevil,” she replied. Some part of him always expected her to still carry the traces of a Russian accent she’d bore when they’d first met, but now her English was clear, as precise and American as she had ever been able to fake for espionage purposes. She’d gone native. His lips quirked slightly, not quite a smile. “Is there a reason for the formality?” she prodded.

For distance, he thought. To keep it professional. This was business, and they were their masks, tonight. But let her draw that conclusion herself. He cut to the chase. “There are a pair of Russians with a stock of compact chemical weapons they’re trying to unload, and Fisk is all too willing to play middleman if he gets a cut.”

“Ex-KGB?” the Black Widow asked, shifting into a comfortable crouch, her fingers almost resting in the gravel on the roof.

“That was my thought. I wanted your educated opinion before I went charging in. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Good call.”

“The hotel across the street is their current base of operations. Security is lax because the cargo has been moved in anticipation of the deal. I thought that you and I could get in and have a nice conversation with our sellers.”

He heard the lift in her heart rate a moment before he sensed the shift in her face as she favored the building with a small grin. “Yes. Let’s.”

\----

The sounds and smells of the city were just beginning to stir into pre-dawn wakefulness when Matt finally climbed back through his bedroom window. Natasha hesitated on the fire escape outside, but when he didn’t immediately offer a goodbye, she followed him in and closed it behind her, finding and securing the locks without a search.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” he asked as he stood facing the bed, still cowled. She leaned against the wall by the window, head tilted.

“It does. I can’t quite say it’s just like old times, but…”

She shrugged, but he heard her hesitation, the falter in the pattern of her breathing, the quick double beat of her heart before she swallowed whatever emotion she’d felt. It was hard to read her, when she didn’t want to be read. The knowledge of each other went both ways.

“You did good out there. It’s hard to believe you’ve actually gotten better.”

“Is that an insult?” Her mock-offense colored her voice, and he could picture it on the contours of her face. He knew the way her expressions felt against his skin. Even the unhappy ones.

“No. You were already very impressive before.”

“You’ve gotten better, too,” Natasha admitted, and the inner struggle in her body seemed to ease as she unglued herself from the wall and sauntered towards him. He felt the heat of her before she touched him, pressing against him from behind and sliding her hands onto his hips, the electric weapons on her wrists alive with stored energy, digging carelessly into his skin through the suit.

Her heart rate had picked up again, and his seemed to follow, trying to match hers beat for beat. His gloved hands moved to cover hers, and he felt her nipples harden against his back, even through so many layers. “Have I?”

“Well. At some things. I don’t know about the rest.”

Matt chuckled, and let his head fall back, breathing in her scent, her warmth. It felt good. Better than it should. They were nothing, now. Not even really friends, let alone the lovers they'd been. No, more than lovers. Something far rarer. Partners.

“What are you thinking about?” Natasha asked, scooting herself even closer, letting her fingers trail inward, across his hip bones, until her fingers rested just on either side of his groin, which was currently experiencing a rush of blood. The costume was feeling uncomfortably tight. It wasn't meant for this.

“You,” he answered. “Us.”

“There isn't much of an 'us' anymore.”

“That's what I was thinking.”

“Doesn't mean we can't... reminisce.”

“We shouldn't.”

“Don't give me the Catholic guilt again. What's stopping you this time? You get married again and not send me an invitation?”

“I-”

She stood up on her tiptoes, hands wandering upward. Her lips brushed his cowl where she knew his ear was, sending tingles straight down his body and into his stiffening cock. “If you're going to tell me no, do it because you don't want it, not because you 'shouldn't.'”

“Tasha...”

“Matt,” she echoed, matching his tone. She pulled away from him, then, and stepped around to face him. She took his hands in hers, and lifted them to her face, running his fingers over her cheekbones, nose, lips—which parted ever so slightly. He could feel the wetness of her breath, and God—why did he remember so clearly how that felt on other parts of him?

“I want you,” he decided.

“Good,” she replied with a smirk, and took his fingertip in her teeth, letting them graze along the tip before she let his hands go. “Then take off that suit.”

She stepped away from him and sat down on his bed, leaning back on her hands, with a smirk that seemed to say 'I'm waiting.'

He flushed beneath her gaze, but obeyed, slipping out of both the suit and then, with only a moment's hesitation, his underclothes beneath. By the time he was done, he was fully erect.

Natasha gave him an appreciative wolf whistle, and leaned forward. “You've gotten more scars since I saw you last. But someone's happy to see me. Need some help with that?”

Matt grunted, and stepped forward, kicking one of his discarded boots to the side. “Your turn.”

She reached up and slowly pulled down the zipper of her catsuit, leaning forward so that her breasts practically spilled out despite the black cotton bra beneath. His fingers ached to touch them, but he held back, letting her practice her own (admittedly more skilled) strip tease.

She unfastened the Widow's Bite cuffs and dropped them onto his bedside table, then slipped out of the rest of her suit and kicked her boots across the floor. Unlike him, he noted, when she got down to underwear, she left them on.

"Come here," she purred, and he stepped forward. His skin was prickling, as if the sexual magnetism she projected was a palpable force.

Again her hands found his hips, but now it was bare skin against bare skin and her nails dug divots into him as she pulled him in. This time he felt the warmth of her breath on the head of his cock, and his hips tried to reflexively buck forward into her mouth, but she held him back--Christ, she was strong--and only his erection strained to reach her. 

He could almost feel her smirk before she finally gave him a taste of what he wanted, her tongue gently caressing the tip before her mouth enveloped the head of his cock. 

Teased, aroused but not touched... He wasn't prepared for it, hadn't braced for the flood of sensation, certainly not as her deft little tongue traced dancing patterns around his glans. He gasped, and this just encouraged her to pull another inch into her mouth, wetting it thoroughly before she slowly withdrew, her plush lips dragging along the whole length to close against the very tip.

"Lie down," she told him, still close enough that he could feel the words as much as hear them. 

He practically stumbled around her and onto the bed, and rolled onto his back. She was on him almost instantly, like a predator might ambush her prey. She straddled him, knees planted on either side of his stomach, and her hands trailed from his shoulders down to his wrists, which she pulled up above his head, letting her body sink down atop him. Her face was in front of his, both of them veiled in a curtain of her wavy hair (red, he knew, and she still dyed it redder--the chemicals left a faint lingering scent). Her hands slipped down to cup his face, fingertips twining in his hair, before she pulled him into a kiss. 

Her mouth was demanding, and he met that demand with equal force, his tongue teasing hers. He could taste himself on her lips and in the moment it drove him madder. Eventually it was she who pulled away, gasping for breath. 

"Fuck," she panted, "I want to ride your cock."

She slid down his body, and she left a trail of wetness down his abdomen even through her panties. She rolled off of him just long enough to squirm out of them, then knelt across his thighs as she unfastened her bra and finally let her breasts fall free. He reached down to touch her hips, but she caught his hands and pulled them upward as she leaned forward, pushing her breasts into them, even as his erection was pressed against the hot wetness between her legs.

He gladly responded, his hands exploring her bosom, memorizing again her curves, her textures, the ways in which he might make her gasp. He pinched one nipple hard and she did just that, her mouth falling open. He could feel the rush of arousal that flooded through her, and he took advantage of the moment, rolling his hips so that the length of his shaft rubbed along her cunt, and he felt the hard nub of her clitoris respond.

"Matt," she breathed. 

"Natasha," he echoed, and this time it was he who kept the waver from his voice. 

Not for long.

She rose up on her knees, her hand drifting down between his arms, down her stomach and lower, to grasp his cock and--God, finally--guide him to her entrance. Though she paused there for a moment, rocking her hips, teasing herself with the head of his cock. 

Then in one smooth, slow motion she pressed down, taking him inside her until her pelvis was pressed to his, sheathing every inch of him in molten pleasure.

Matt lost everything, for a moment, his senses overloaded. He could feel every subtle movement of her inner muscles, could feel her pulse beating through him, could even feel her juices blending with the pre-come escaping his tip and filling every crevice around him. 

His thumbs brushed over her nipples once more, and he felt the ripple along his cock as her body reacted.

She grabbed his wrists again and pushed his hands down to his sides, adjusting her legs just enough to trap them there. Then, seeming satisfied that she had him pinned enough for now, she began to move, lifting herself slowly up, then plunging back down onto him, again and again, finding her own rhythm.

Soon her hands were moving on her own body, her eyes closed as one hand began frantically working her clit, sometimes slipping down to stroke along the slick length of Matt's shaft before it filled her again, or even spreading herself, as if to take him deeper, or maybe just to feel the place where his body entered hers. Her other hand moved to her breast, toying with each of her nipples in turn. 

Beneath her, Matt had the impression that he was just being used, his body becoming nothing but a tool for her pleasure. He shuddered as that thought filled him, and he seemed to grow tuned to that purpose, letting go of everything but her body moving atop him, the warm depths swallowing him as she drove herself down on his cock. 

Suddenly her hand grew more frantic on her clit. Her heart pounded around him and her motions grew quicker, hips rocking as she tried to find the perfect angle.. 

She gasped and drove herself down onto him hard, her hand slowing to a massage as she clenched around him in waves. He rocked his hips into her with equal slowness, riding it with her. His nerves were on fire with need, his balls aching for release, nearly tipped over the edge by Natasha's orgasm, but if Matt could do anything, he could push aside overwhelming sensation and keep going. He did. 

Before her waves of pleasure had even stopped, Natasha started moving again. It was wetter between them now, and the soft, swollen walls of her cunt seemed to hug him even better as she found her pace again. Now her legs were spread wider, and he took this as an invitation to free his hands. One came to rest on her hip once more. The other poised between them, resting on her stomach (God, he could practically feel his dick inside her). His thumb brushed her clit and he felt her almost recoil... Then decide it was good after all. Her hips rocked toward him, pressing against his hand. He rubbed harder and faster, wetting his thumb where their bodies joined before resuming his assault. 

Almost immediately she began to buck more urgently, and a moan slipped from her throat. "Matt," she breathed, and it became a plea. "Matt. I want... I want you to come inside me. Fuck. Please."

More than anything, he wanted to obey, but he held back, biting his lip as he continued to stroke her clit, feeling the way her body tensed, seeming to vibrate around him. 

"Matt!" She repeated, a half-octave higher, as her body froze, unable even to keep fucking herself on his cock. 

But he could help. He thrust himself upward into her, once, twice--and then everything exploded. She was coming again, and he pulled her down hard, shooting his come as deep into her as he could. 

He wasn't sure how long they clung to each other there, lost in the moment. Finally, the world began to return. He reached up to touch her face. He cupped her cheek and she turned her head to kiss his palm.

“So...” Matt began.

He felt her smile against his hand. “Well, I'll give you this. At least you haven't gotten worse.”  
“If that's all, you'll have to let me try again another day.”

“Mm,” she purred, moving against the softening cock still buried inside her. “Well then. You'll just have to find more excuses to call me, won't you?”

He grinned, and pulled her down into an embrace. “I'm sure I'll think of something.”


End file.
